


the road finally gave me back

by evocates



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Gen, Insecurity, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocates/pseuds/evocates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes conquering your fears just means having someone beside you. Richard, Graham, and a bunch of still-packed bags. </p><p>Written for a prompt on hobbit_kink that asked for <a href="http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=15763948">Richard/Any, NZ-related anxiety</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the road finally gave me back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wave_of_sorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/gifts).



> Prompt: When Richard moves to NZ he's scared and excited (but mostly scared) and doesn't unpack for three weeks because he thinks he'll get sent back home again anyway. He's worried about everything and too caught up in his anxiety and panic attacks to really participate in any of the get-togethers were the cast is supposed to get to know one another, which only makes his anxiety skyrocket. Between long hours of working and practicing when he isn't working, he doesn't have time to unwind and calm down and it gets to a point where he just feels like he's on the verge of a massive panic attack all the time and he's embarrassed about it and angry at himself and he wants to go home coming here was a mistake oh god I can't do this
> 
> Cue cast member(s) of your choice noticing and helping.
> 
>  
> 
> Slightly less panic than ordered, but hopefully still fitting anyway. Ack.

Richard began to dread going back to his rented house after the end of the day. No matter how tired he was, no matter how few takes they took on that day to get the scene right, he would see the still-unpacked suitcase on the ground and be reminded that he might not stay very long here. His hands would start to shake and his breath started coming shorter and shorter until he ran out of the door, slamming it shut behind him, his back flat against it with his eyes squeezed close, trying to regain control of himself. He managed to lock himself out of his own house so many times that Richard started to keep a key underneath the potted plant in the porch, just so he wouldn't have to call the locksmith and to endure his benignly curious gaze another time.

It was stupid, Richard knew. He knew exactly how stupid it was, what he was doing, but somehow he couldn't stop doing it. Worse still, the more he thought about how irrational and ridiculous his actions were, the more often he did them, and his fear of the rental house grew and grew until it threatened to swallow him up. Nowadays he took all possible excuses to stay in the trailer park even overnight, telling himself that he could make do with the smaller bed (even though his ankles hung over the edge and he had to curl up just inside the frame) because he would get to sleep more.

Not that he slept anyway. There were very few people who stayed overnight in the studio, and all those who did were usually too busy shut up in their offices. The silence of the trailer park was suffocating, and Richard finished reading all the books he brought from England by his first week in New Zealand. He bought more at the various bookstores dotted around Wellington, and tried to make believe to himself that at least he was catching up on his reading, that there was a good reason why he wasn't going back to the more comfortable king-sized bed in the rental house.

(Richard knew all he needed was just one day to himself, one day to go back to the house and unpack his suitcase. He could imagine himself taking all of his clothes out and hanging them up in the closet, placing his toiletries on the still-empty shelves, putting his bags into the store. He could imagine himself doing it, but whenever he stood outside the door of the house, he would freeze up.)

It had been three weeks of this. Richard hadn't slept well for even longer. (He had never been able to sleep properly on planes, and before that he was... nervous. _What if, what if, what if_...) He was tired, but not tired enough to affect his performance, but tired enough to give it as an excuse whenever the rest of the Dwarf cast invited him out for a drink, or for a party, or for any sort of social gathering.

Richard knew he should. They were all making friends with each other, and that was necessary because you couldn't fake camaraderie, not really. Not enough to be convincing. He tried to make himself believe that he was doing this because Thorin was the King, and he had burdens on his shoulders, and there was the encroaching gold sickness to think about, but Richard had never been a good liar. He knew his real reasons; he knew himself a little too well, and he hated himself all the more for knowing.

His thoughts turned around seemingly in endless circles. Sometimes Richard felt that he couldn't breathe. How did he ever think that he could come to New Zealand and take part in a production as large as this? He was a nobody from England, someone who wasn't well-known until his late thirties, someone who had so little experience in big productions. Who was he when compared to Ian or James or Martin or even Graham, all of whom were legends in their own homes and even internationally? Who was he when compared to even Aidan, who was far more accomplished at his age than Richard was at his?

Then there was Cate. Cate with her awards and her brilliance and how could Richard even imagine being in the same space as she was, much less the same movie, the same screen?

(If anyone asked Richard if he thought Jed or Mark or especially Adam, all of whom were near unknown, were worthy of sharing a screen beside Ian, he would say _of course they did_ , and he would mean it as well. But he was always an exception in his own thoughts.)

But there was another problem related to Cate as well.

She was coming down from Australia for fittings for her gown and to get to know the rest of the cast, and the Dwarves - all men, all _boys_ \- were throwing a party for her and they joked that they would all dress their absolute best, because it was Cate Blanchett and there was no man in the world who didn't want to have at least one chance at impressing her. Richard looked at the clothes he had in his trailer and he knew that he should make his excuses somehow to escape the party. There were no clothes suitable here. 

There were clothes in his rental house. He brought suits.

Stupid, really, to be afraid of the sight of still-full bags.

***

Graham had this thing about personal space. Even though Richard hadn't talked to him much beyond what they needed to establish the relationship between Dwalin and Thorin, Graham ambled over and draped an arm over Richard's shoulders, completely at ease with his invasion of someone else’s space.

“So,” he said. “What are you wearing to Cate's party?” It was going to be at Jed's house, but everyone called it 'Cate's party', even though the woman herself still didn't know it was going to take place. (At least, Richard didn’t think she knew.) “I'm looking forward to seeing you dressed in something nicer than your usual track pants.”

Richard stared at the ground. He took a deep breath, his hand nudging at Graham's side. The good thing about Graham was also that he knew when to take a hint, and he pulled away to lean on a trailer wall. But his eyes didn't leave Richard's.

“I'm not going,” Richard told his own feet. “I- uh- I don't have the clothes.”

“Well, that's easy,” Graham shrugged. “You can go get some.” He paused and said, with a strange gentleness, “I can go with you, if you like.”

“No- I- uh- I have the clothes. In the- the rental house.” Richard wished the ground would open and swallow him up. 

Graham was silent. His gaze was heavy on Richard's skin, like a warm blanket wrapped around Richard's shoulders, far too hot for midsummer. (The weather was strange. Richard saw the date and expected a certain temperature, but when he walked outside, it was the opposite, and he should be used to it after two weeks but he still wasn't. That was stupid as well.)

“Hey, Richard?”

Richard jerked, his head snapping up at the sudden sound breaking the silence. “Yeah?”

“Mind driving me to my place? I don't have the suitable in my trailer as well. It's just past yours, I think.” There was a peculiar expression on Graham's face, but the question was natural enough.

(It wouldn't be the first time they would be alone with each other. The day was just over, and they could talk about the film or the day. It was just going past Richard's place, after all. Nothing would happen.)

He tried not to fidget. He knew he should refuse.

“Sure,” he heard himself say.

*

Aside from Jed and Mark, who had homes of their own in Wellington, the Dwarves all practically lived in each other's back pockets. Their rental houses were placed pretty close to each other, neat rows of houses that were - according to some of the conversations Richard had overheard sometimes - really noisy at night with all the parties and get-togethers that the cast organised. He heard Aidan joke that Pete placed them all next to each other so they would only disturb each other instead of some poor Wellington resident who needed his sleep.

Richard didn't know, but he could guess. The trailer park was always near-explosive with noise in the day, after all. 

Seated beside him, Graham stretched suddenly, his long legs thumping hard against the dashboard of Richard's rental car. “You know,” he began, his eyes catching Richard's in the rear-view mirror. “We can get your clothes before we go to mine.”

“What?”

“You don't think I'm going to let you get out of going to Cate's party, do you? You've been avoiding us long enough, so I'm making sure that you go.”

Richard took a deep breath. “I don't want to,” he said. 

“Why?”

_Because I don't belong here. Because I don't want all of you to get to know me and start liking me only to be disappointed when I fail to match up to your expectations, when Peter tells me to go. Because I don't want to be the second Rob._

“I'm tired,” he said instead.

“Don't think any of us aren't, Rich,” Graham said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. His eyes were nearly burning on Richard's skin. He cocked his head to the side. “You don't think that you're better than all of us, do you?”

“What?” Richard nearly swerved the steering wheel. He cursed under his breath and got the car back onto the lane proper - it was a good thing that the streets were usually empty this time of the day. “What? No!”

“Then come to Cate's party with all of us,” said Graham with a finality that made Richard wanted to shout at him. “I promise we won't be having any orgies.”

It was most likely a ridiculous question, but Richard asked it anyway: “Why would I think you all are having orgies?”

“Bunch of us busybodies is trying to figure out why you're not coming out with us,” Graham said, and Richard couldn't help but wince. “So we figured that either you think you're far better than to associate with riffraff, or you think we're all having orgies and you're too scandalised.”

He wanted to smack his head against the steering wheel. This was the most surreal conversation he ever had. “I don't think you guys are having any orgies.”

“Then you're out of excuses for avoiding the party,” said Graham. “C'mon, Rich. It's going to be fun. We're all going to behave ourselves around Cate, unless she doesn't behave herself then Aidan might start dancing naked on the tables- no, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Jesus, you blush real easy, don't you?”

Richard tried to convince his cheeks to stop blushing. He coughed. “What's the route to your place?”

“Aren't we going to yours? You need to pick up clothes.”

“We can go to yours first,” and maybe Richard could try escaping from the bathroom window of Graham's house.

“I live further down the street and it's closer from there to Jed's,” Graham pointed out, perfectly reasonably.

Okay, so the escape route through bathroom window was out. Richard almost started laughing to himself. He took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. He turned into the driveway of his rental house, shut off the engine, and leaned back against the seat. 

“I'd really, really rather not,” he tried to say, and he was surprised at how shaky his voice sounded.

Graham's hand landed on his shoulder. Richard turned around almost involuntarily, jerky in his movements, and he looked up expecting to find Graham laughing at him. But Graham's wasn't laughing, wasn't even smiling, and his hand squeezed hard on Richard's arm.

“I'll pick your clothes out for you,” Graham said, and there was the barest hint of a tease in his tone. Richard knew that it was kindness, to defuse the situation so it was less serious, and he rubbed at his eyes.

Funny, he had never realised how truly exhausted he was until now.

“Alright.”

Graham had to stop touching him for the two of them to get out of the car, and Richard found his skin tingling, aching for the touch of someone else’s warmth on his own skin. He was almost surprised at himself, trying to keep his paces straight and his feet steady as he walked towards the potted plant and retrieved his key.

“It’s a little messy inside,” he said, trying to make a joke. “You sure you want to come in?”

“You should see my house sometimes,” Graham chuckled. “It’s a hovel.”

He was standing a little too close, really, especially since the two of them didn’t know each other that well, but Richard didn’t mind it. He could almost feel Graham’s heat from here.

Richard closed his eyes and pushed open the door.

***

“Your place is disturbingly tidy.”

 _Well, of course it would be, when I’m terrified of coming here_.

Sometimes Richard surprised himself with the sheer viciousness of his own thoughts. He turned his instinctive wince into a shrug, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’ll go and change in the room,” he said.

He didn’t want Graham to see the still-packed bags in the bedroom. 

Somehow, if Graham saw them, and made a comment about them, Richard’s pathetic nature would be made even more real. Maybe Graham would even talk to Peter and what Richard feared most would come to pass; that he would be chased out.

( _No_ , no, Richard knew that wouldn’t happen. He didn’t know Graham very well, but he knew enough that he simply wasn’t that kind of person. None of the cast was malicious that way.

If it was only easier to believe something that he knew.)

“Oh, no, no, you’re not getting off that easy,” Graham shook his head. He threw an arm over Richard’s shoulders, practically dragging him towards the bedroom. “I came all the way here. I’m going to see you wear something that would make Cate consider cheating on her husband with you.”

Richard’s face was burning. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he tried to say.

“Oh, it definitely is,” Graham shot back cheerfully. He was starting to drag Richard towards his own bedroom.

It was getting hard to breathe, as if the air in the room was thinning out. Richard should stop Graham; should push him away and tell him to stop dragging him. He wanted him to stop, to get out, to stop bothering him about going to this party. He could shout and say it wasn’t important and Graham was wasting his time, thereby sealing his reputation as an arrogant bastard. It could work. Graham would leave him alone, they would all leave him alone and if Peter decided that Richard wasn’t good enough to be Thorin, no one else would be hurt.

But Richard didn’t want Graham to stop either. He was afraid and he didn’t want to be afraid. He was tired of his head turning in circles, of chasing his own tail in his thoughts. He was sick and tired of the sound of his own heartbeat and his own breath. Richard knew all the contradictions in his own way of thinking, could plan a chart about them with coloured arrows, but he wanted so badly to _believe_ that he was wrong.

And maybe Graham could prove him wrong.

(Was it desperation or faith to believe in a man he knew for two weeks? A man he hadn’t had a proper conversation with until now? Richard couldn’t tell the difference. Most of the time it was the same to him.)

Richard only hoped that Graham wouldn’t think him pathetic. He didn’t want Graham to think badly of him, whatever he might see.

(Maybe Richard was just making too big a fuss over a few unpacked bags.)

Graham was still chuckling near his ears. Richard took a deep breath and held it, trying not to breathe. The door opened and he wished more than anything to be able to silence the roar of his own heart, because every nerve in his body was primed to listen- to Graham, not to himself.

(Maybe for the first time in a long time. Maybe this was just what he needed.)

Silence. Graham let him go. Richard stumbled forward, catching himself on the doorframe, and he slouched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets again. He wished the ground could swallow him up, or he could find the cookie Alice ate; the one that made her smaller.

“You haven’t unpacked,” Graham said finally.

Richard nodded.

“Why?”

Why didn’t he? (Or more importantly, what kind of answer could Richard give Graham so Graham wouldn’t think lowly of him? What _lies_ could he give? Could he even think of being honest? Was there still a way out for him, now he had dragged himself so far?)

“I-” he licked his lips, staring holes into the carpet. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you know,” Graham said. His voice was surprisingly gentle. 

Richard heard footsteps. There were hands on his shoulders, but he tensed them up even further, hunching inwards as if he could make himself shorter if he just tried hard enough. Graham’s arm drew across his back, trying to tug him close, tug him into his arms. Richard knew he should not, he really should not, but his heels left the ground, fingers tangling in the cloth of Graham’s shirt.

He tried to breathe. Graham was close, almost too close, and Richard hadn’t been touched like this for _weeks_. Maybe months. He closed his eyes and tensed even further, but Graham’s hand was right there, stroking at the knobs of his spine, easing out the tension until Richard sagged almost involuntarily against him.

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” he told Graham’s shoulder. “A grown man scared of a few bags.”

Graham made a soft sound. He nudged at Richard, urging him to follow him with every step backwards. It would be so much easier if they let go of each other to walk properly, but Graham didn’t seem to want to let go and Richard couldn’t convince himself to do so either. They half-fell, half-sat down on the bed, and Graham patted him on the back.

“Depends on why he’s afraid,” Graham said.

“I might-” his breath hitched, but Richard forced the words through. “I might jinx it.”

“Jinx what?”

“If I get comfortable, if I unpack… Peter might change his mind.”

The words were light and airy on his tongue, words that didn’t seem to exist, didn’t have any weight whatsoever. Like Rumpelstiltskin, who was no longer a powerful magician but merely an ugly little gremlin when his real name was spoken aloud. He always knew how ridiculous that line of logic was, but now the sheer ludicrousness of the statement buried deep into his skin, down to his bone. Richard shivered slightly.

Graham pulled away. “Say that again?”

“If I unpack, Peter might change his mind about how good I am at Thorin,” Richard told his own hands. “Like Rob.”

“Rob left because of scheduling conflicts,” Graham said, and no matter how gentle his tone was, Richard couldn’t help but hear the slight incredulity in them. “Not because he wasn’t good enough.”

He knew that. Of course he knew that. But belief was always different for him. More difficult.

(Why should he believe in something when it could be proven false at any time?)

“Look at me, Richard.”

Richard looked up.

“You realise that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy, right?” Graham said. He grabbed Richard’s wrists, holding tight onto him, his eyes boring into Richard’s and refusing to allow him to turn away. “Look, if you keep staying away from us, none of us will be at our best. You won’t be at your best – everyone’s noticed how tired you are by now. You’re just going to end up _making_ Peter think that you’re unsuitable. Not because of your ability, but because you keep yourself away. Isolated.”

He had never thought of that before. Richard stared, his lips parting but he could find no words, nothing that could refute Graham, nothing that could explain himself adequately. He had been so afraid, and somehow- somehow, to know that it was his fear that would make him inadequate…

“I…”

“Do you know what’s the best thing about Scotland? For me?” Graham interrupted him. It was such a non-sequitor that Richard was left reeling, and the only word left in his head was:

“What?”

“The stars.” Graham let go of him and Richard barely resisted lunging forward and dragging the heat back. Instead, he watched as Graham stood and walked towards the window. “I grew up learning the constellations in Scotland, and even when I’m in London and the lights blocked up most of the stars, I always managed to find a tall building. I’ll go up there, look around, and the world will be familiar again because I recognise the stars.

“When I first came here, I tried looking up at the skies but it made everything worse, because for the first time in so many, many years, the stars are alien to me. It’s like I’m not even under the same sky anymore. Not in the same world.”

 _It’s not the same_ , Richard wanted to shout, wanted to scream. His hands clenched tightly into fists on top of his thighs, because the words were so easy, on the tip of his tongue, but he knew better and he wanted so very badly to believe in the better. 

No, it wasn’t the same, but it was similar, nonetheless, he thought as he watched Graham wrap arms around himself. It was that crawling feeling under the skin, because you couldn’t reach the centre of yourself, everything lost in fog and mist. As if you stepped into a place marked in the map only as _here there be monsters_ , with the ground covered in vines without even solid grass and dirt that you could trust.

“It’s not only you who feel lost, Rich,” Graham said, and he was suddenly standing in front of Richard, his thumbs hooked into his pocket. “Everyone feels the same.”

“Even the ones from New Zealand?”

Graham crooked a half-smile. “Even the guys from New Zealand, though in a different way. Jed said that he’s frankly a little terrified, because the rest of us have experience in international productions in one way or another, and we’re so much better known than he is. And you know this is Adam’s first movie.”

Richard let out a long, deep exhale. He stared at his still-packed bags, his empty closet, the neat, untouched bed. 

“I thought I’m the only one stupid enough to feel like this,” he said, and laughed a little sheepishly. “I know it’s ridiculous, but…”

“But it just feels that way, yeah,” Graham’s voice was wry. He shook his head, walking around Richard to sit on the bed next to him. His arm was warm as he wrapped it around Richard’s shoulders.

They sat like this for a while. Richard’s mind was completely blank, and he leaned against Graham, feeling the heat emanating from the other man. The silence around them was comfortable. Like this, with Graham, it was like having an old blanket that had been a companion since childhood wrapped around him. Richard closed his eyes.

“We should get to Cate’s party,” he murmured.

Graham’s shoulders shook beneath Richard’s head. “It’s tomorrow, actually.”

If Richard was less tired, he would jerk upright and stare. Now he only opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly, trying to look at Graham without having to move. “What?”

“The party’s tomorrow,” Graham clarified. “Everyone’s getting kind of worried about you. Even the makeup girls are talking about the circles under your eyes that they have to cover up.” His hand rubbed at Richard’s arm. “I took Cate’s party as an excuse to invade your home, I admit it fully.”

“Oh,” Richard said.

“Besides, you need to unpack, right?”

Richard took a deep breath. He hated asking people for help, especially anything that he could do himself. But it wasn’t help he was actually asking for, he rationalised to himself. It was… it was something else.

Friendship, maybe.

“Help me unpack?” he turned his head up, looking into Graham’s eyes. “I have a lot of stuff.”

Graham chuckled. He leaned forward, leaning his forehead against Richard’s, like Dwarves did with their brothers and comrades.

“I’ll help you unpack,” he said. “I’ll help you mess up the house as well, so it looks more like you live in it.”

For the first time in weeks, Richard let out a laugh, soft, burbling, and rusty at the same time.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.

“I’ll like that.”

_End_


End file.
